


well you know i've got your back

by bentsage (DevilishKurumi)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6781801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/bentsage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Piper doesn't believe him when he says it, but MacCready trusts Strong with his life.  He's marginally sure Strong feels the same way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	well you know i've got your back

**Author's Note:**

> hi so quick few things: 1) this is my first finished fic in a while and i'm very proud to be breaking my losing streak, 2) the way Strong and MacCready respect each other canonically is awesome and we should all appreciate it, and 3) yes i ship it
> 
> that being said i hope you enjoy this story about MacCready and Strong being ~~*Best Friends 4Eva*~~

            There are things Strong does that trip every one of MacCready's instinctual alarms.  The way he stares in from the outskirts of settlements like a wolf fenced out of a coop, for starters, is  _super_  creepy.  And MacCready's blood runs cold whenever he says the wrong thing to Strong, who will squint as though MacCready's forgotten his place and he has half a mind to correct him.  There's never violence, but MacCready hesitates to test it anyway, just in case he says the wrong thing and gets clobbered.

            Strong will look over raider camps after a gruesome fight and lick his lips, and MacCready's throat will go dry and tight because those were  _people_ , you know?  But even then, he doesn't stop Strong from plucking off a corpse's finger to chew on.  Sure, one day it could be MacCready's finger Strong gnaws on.  At least, that's what most of the others say about it, not that he cares what they think.  Maybe Piper doesn't believe him when he says it, but MacCready trusts Strong with his life.  He's marginally sure Strong feels the same way.

            Strong trusts him enough to cover him with his rifle, at least.  And trusts him enough to sleep, occasionally, when they're out together in the field because the raiders attacking the settlement only come at dawn.   Strong lets MacCready lean on him after a pipe to the knee leaves him limping and doesn't tell anyone how colorful his language gets after a frag mine nearly blows his arm off.  They share food and water, which is, as far as MacCready can tell, a big deal with super mutants.  Not to say he's got a lot of experience with them - other than Strong, he only ever sees them through a scope.

            Still.  There aren't' a lot of people Strong works well with - it's pretty much down to MacCready and the General, who's got her own shit to deal with.  So it doesn't really surprise MacCready that most of the time, that's who he gets stuck with.  It doesn't even bother him, really.  Strong's finger-picking, his growling, his inhuman commentary that walks a moral line MacCready doesn't want to cross...  It's all stuff he can deal with, because in the end, they have each others' backs.  Maybe it helps that Strong is such a powerhouse that MacCready doesn't need to worry about him most of the time.  Strong doesn't need a fancy plan, either – he just needs to be pointed at the right people to smash.  MacCready can appreciate that.

            Word comes down from the General that Somerville Place needs help with the gunner enclave picking up at an abandoned Vault.  The place is pretty far south, and gunners are always heavy hitters, so Strong is a natural candidate to help.  MacCready realizes only after they've left Jamaica Plain that he was never directly mentioned by the runner.  It's become so common for Strong and him to be put out to send a message that he hadn't even thought about it.  It's a nice chance of pace, helping honest people for good caps instead of relying on gray-area mercenary work, especially when Strong refuses to accept payment himself.  He always makes a big stink about money, but by now MacCready's pretty sure it's just for show.  Just part of the super mutant culture, he supposes.

            None of the settlers seem surprised by MacCready's green skinned companion, but they don't want to talk with him.  Another reason Strong needs MacCready – he's not really good with asking questions.  MacCready's the one who does all the talking, getting an idea of the numbers they're dealing with, directions, all that.  Strong just stands near the house and stares hungrily at the stray cat lurking on the porch.

They head out near dusk.  Strong doesn't talk much on the walk down the road, but MacCready manages to keep something close to a conversation going anyway.   At least until they reach the shattered trees that mark the nearby Vault entrance – then he's all business.

            The gunners are more prepared for them than MacCready would've thought.  Someone must have figured out the settlement sent for the Minutemen.  Even though it's a small contingent, they recuperate quickly from the surprise ambush.  There's nothing they can do for their assaultron, though, which MacCready manages to take down with a well timed grenade and a few explosive rounds.  Strong doesn't seem to care about the robot blowing up twenty paces from him.  He doesn't seem to see beyond the men he's currently tearing apart; he's abandoned his sledgehammer in one man's chest, decimating two of them with his bare hands.  MacCready cracks out a few more shots, just thankful that he's on Strong's side – the last person he'd trade places with is the bloody pulp of a gunner dripping from Strong's fist.

            Maybe they're getting too cocky, or maybe the gunners stepped up their training once the Minutemen began spreading out.  Whatever the reason, MacCready has to spend two full minutes searching for the snipers who are starting to figure out his position, which are two minutes he leaves Strong unguarded.  One of the initiates MacCready had almost capped comes up from the ground with a pipe, and MacCready's too busy to notice until it catches Strong square in the jaw.  MacCready sees the impact through his scope.  The momentum staggers Strong, the backhand crack of metal sending a spatter of blood from his mouth.  His feet lose track of the ground; as he drops to one knee, the gunner brings the pipe down on his skull and sends him spiraling to the ground.  He doesn't get up.

            Over the gunfire and the shouting and the gunners desperately trying to find him, all MacCready can see is Strong on the ground.  Fear that'd been coiled in his belly lunges up his throat, bitter and hot-cold on the back of his tongue.  He takes off the top of the initiate's cranium before he can turn Strong's thick skull to pulp, thinking – well, not thinking anything at all, really, other than  _don't be dead, don't be dead._ MacCready's body is on autopilot with the crisp snap- _bang_  of each shot, shoulder taking recoil like an automaton, only pausing to reload.  Rinse and repeat until the gunners retreat further into the Vault and MacCready has an opening.  Immediately forgetting his cover, MacCready climbs through the brush and rushes to the inanimate greenskin on the ground.  "C'mon, buddy," he says, even before he's within earshot, "Stay with me, okay, big guy –"

            Strong doesn't move when MacCready shakes him.  It's when he's trying to stop the blood that Strong makes a noise - a sigh, a breath, a whine?  MacCready doesn't know what to call it other than a miracle, seeing Strong's skull under all the blood even as he takes a shuddering breath, heaving like a severely sick Brahmin, the kind of sick that gets an animal put down.

            Except  _nobody_  is putting Strong down, not as long as MacCready's got a say in it.  He uses his scarf like a bandage, figuring at once that it'll be ruined and also that it never mattered that much to him to begin with.  The fear that had climbed his throat doesn't fade, but he can finally swallow down the lump and concentrate.

            "Hey, Strong," he says quickly, a little afraid he might run out of breath (or nerve) before he can finish, "I need you to open your eyes, buddy, okay?  Or say something – c'mon."

            Never in his life did he think he'd be this terrified over a super mutant's wellbeing.  But here he is, desperate and definitely terrified.  Strong is breathing but knocked clean out, blood dripping down the side of his head and already soaking the bandage, and MacCready isn't enjoying the vulnerability.  He doesn't exactly pray, but he mentally shouts at whatever might be able to hear him as he looks from the gunners' position to the tree line.  He doesn't know how long he has.  He doesn't know how heavy Strong is.  Every second in open space could be his last second alive.

            MacCready feels ridiculous as he drags Strong away from the mouth of the Vault, heaving his upper torso up enough to pull him three or four steps before having to put him back down, bracing himself before doing it all over again.  It takes a long time to get them to the tree line, but MacCready does it without complaint – mostly because he doesn't have the breath to spare for witty commentary to his comatose friend.  Once MacCready has Strong safely behind a small copse of trees, he goes back to the bodies on the field, rifling through their pockets on all fours as quickly as possible.  He doesn't know how long the gunners will keep back for, and he wants to get as far from here as possible before they realize he must be nearly out of ammunition.  They can come back later and burn this place to the ground, but right now, they need to get  _out_.

            Two of the bodies are carrying stimpaks, and the crawl back to the trees is quicker with them in MacCready's pockets.  As he crawls, he tries to fight off the urge to prepare for the worst, ignoring the itch at the back of his mind that says cut your losses and run.  When he climbs the small hill and ducks through the trees, he finds Strong still lying with his back against a tree.  Thankfully, he's opened his eyes – they're half-lidded, glazed and staring at the middle-distance, but it's enough of a change that MacCready can practically taste his relief.

            "Hey, big guy," he says, administering one of the stimpaks with quick, desperate efficiency.  "Thought I'd lost ya for a minute there."

            "Mack Ree Dee," Strong says, and it sounds –  _wrong_.  Slurry and unsure, not at all right coming from the hulking, fearless mass of unstoppable object that Strong is.  MacCready knows he shouldn't be too surprised – the guy's head was nearly smashed open like a hard melon, after all – but it still causes a flutter of panic that almost strangles him.

            "That's my name, don't wear it out," he says, voice cracking over his anxiety.  He goes ahead and applies the next stimpak, too, even though normally it'd be overkill.  Watching the wounds across Strong's skull start to knit together brings more relief than MacCready would've expected.

            Strong blinks a few times, his eyes starting to roam as they begin to focus.  "Strong not feel good," he rasps.

            "Just sit back and try not to move too much," MacCready replies.  "You'll feel better in a few minutes."

            They sit there in silence, both waiting for something – anything – to happen.  There's no movement from the gunners.  Not yet, anyway – MacCready's sure they'll be coming out to see if he's still taking their heads off, and he fully intends to catch two or three of them before they get the message.  He keeps checking on the entrance like an obsessive habit.  For some reason, he's having trouble meeting Strong's gaze.  It doesn't help that Strong won't stop staring - it's starting to unnerve him a bit.

            A few more moments pass before Strong slowly leans his head left, then right.  "Mack Ree Dee... moved Strong?" he finally asks.

            "Well, I wasn't gonna help you without any dang cover.  And before you go all greenskin on me,  _no_ , I wasn't just gonna leave you there, either, so don't start."

Strong... looks at MacCready, in a way he's never seen before.  It's actually a little off-putting, how expression Strong suddenly seems in the dark, his blood coating the side of his face.  MacCready squirms uncomfortably under the look but doesn't back down, meeting Strong's eyes with his own, waiting for the usual bullshit about super mutants not needing any friends or any help.  Maybe something about the weak being left to die.  They've had a few arguments about it before, and super mutants aren't big on evolving their opinions.

            "Thank you," Strong finally says, which is so absolutely mind-boggling that MacCready almost misses the investigative noises the gunners are making from their hidey-hole.  His mind's kind of gone fuzzy.  Warm fuzzy, not traumatized fuzzy, which is great.  Also, slightly horrifying, because Strong and warm fuzzy feelings are usually opposite sides of the scale.

            "Um," he says.  He clears his throat.  "You're welcome, buddy.  Hang on, now."

            MacCready spots a group of eight scouts beginning to fan out over the empty land between the trees and the Vault.  He pins a few of them – one in the head, two in their chests – and then skirts behind the trees, popping off shots from different positions.  If he sticks to one place, they're gonna find his location too fast, that much he knows.  They might even realize that Strong and he are on their own and come hunt them down before they're ready to move.  So, he has to trick them.  One sniper won't intimidate gunners, right, but two?   _Three_?  Yeah, they'll wait until their Assaultron is repaired to risk that sort of disadvantage.

            He follows the last surviving initiate through his scope as he makes as fast a retreat as possible.  He sees the guy's back a couple of times, but he doesn't pull the trigger.  Once the field is still again, he sits with his back against a tree and waits for five long minutes to make sure that's the last of them.  With any luck, Strong will at least be able to move with some help by the time he's done.

            Strong knows how he operates, but MacCready feels guilty for not saying anything before taking off.  He's still reeling from the unprompted thanks, if he's being honest with himself.  Who ever heard of a super mutant  _thanking_  somebody?  Strong's okay, and all, but he's still one hundred percent super mutant, and they're not exactly known for their gratitude.  Some part of him had always assumed all super mutants came with a suicidal streak - part of their genetics, maybe.  Honestly, MacCready's never really given super mutants a lot of thought one way or another.  They eat people, raid settlements, and try to blow you up with missiles.  Now that he's thinking about it, he doesn't really know much about them.  They're just... mutants.  He's made good money killing them, and Strong's never objected to wiping them out when they've had to.   _Nobody_  objects when they get blown up, not even the dang greenskins themselves.

            Is that weird?  MacCready turns over his shoulder to look through the brush, but the open space is completely still.  Maybe it  _is_  weird.  To be fair, considering the ethics of murder isn't something mercenaries do a lot of.  He barely thinks about the raiders he's killed, and they're real people, not just super mutants.  It's sort of a health hazard to think too hard in this line of work.  It's actually making him uneasy.

            Finally sure that the gunners have backed off again, MacCready circles back to the cluster of trees he'd left Strong at.  He's relieved to see Strong crouching now, resting a shoulder against the largest trunk with an eye to the field.  He doesn't seem phased when MacCready appears next to him, but MacCready knows Strong was watching him take the scouts out.

            "Ready for next round," Strong says, eagerness darkening his voice but not completely hiding its unsteadiness.  MacCready's eyebrows furrow at the suggestion as he looks from the still visible wound across Strong's skull to the swath of no man's land Strong had nearly died in.

            "Are you nuts?" he asks.  "No way."

            "Strong can smash fine!" Strong presses, and yeah, okay, he's only a greenskin, but  _come on_.  His pride has to have some kind of end.

            "We gotta pull back for now.  I'm nearly outta bullets and definitely out of stimpaks."

            " _Gunners_  almost out of  _gunners_."

            Frustration bubbles up and MacCready can't help but bark in a tone he definitely  _doesn't_  use with Strong, "Yeah, well, I'm not gonna risk our lives for this, so  _no_!"

            Considering that he's never actually yelled at Strong before, the fact that he doesn't put his fist through MacCready's face is a genuine surprise.  MacCready doesn't know what to make of the grim expression Strong's wearing, but there's no immediate violence like he'd expected.  "I really don't wanna see you go down for good," he says, only guessing that Strong will know the apology when he hears it.

            For a long moment, Strong only glares, first at MacCready and then out at the field.  If he decides to go back down there – well, of course MacCready is going to stay and cover him, but he doesn't think he'll like how it'll end.  Finally, before MacCready can figure out the right thing to say to convince him not to do it, Strong sighs and seems to resign himself.

            "If Strong goes down, Mack Ree Dee goes too," he says, and then miraculously continues, "Fine.  Strong will go."

            "Man," MacCready whistles, "I'm glad to hear it.  And it's not like we aren't going to come back and finish the job."

            "Yes," Strong agrees, and he leans against the tree as he climbs to his feet.  "Maybe... Strong not see good enough to fight anyway."  MacCready's not sure if he's ever heard Strong admit to not being ready for a fight.  For a second, he worries that maybe the blow to the head did more damage than he'd thought. Thankfully, Strong continues, "Maybe Strong pick up minigun this time," proving that his pride hasn't suffered much actual damage.

            It's a hilarious thing to be relieved to hear, but MacCready chuckles anyways, slapping a hand on Strong's arm.  "That's the spirit.  You need a hand?"

            Strong makes an annoyed face, but shrugs his shoulders.  "Maybe a little."

            "Sure thing, buddy," MacCready says.  He leads Strong back through the trees with a hand on his arm, minding his clumsy steps for him.  Once they hit the road, it's Strong who carries the conversation this time, which is great, except all he wants to talk about is murder.  MacCready lets him rant about the humans and their imminent deaths at his hands without his usual disgusted sounds, if only because he can tell Strong needs to vent.  Anyway, that's what friends are for – back up and a shoulder to lean on.  He hopes Strong gets that, and figures he has when they get within sight of the settlement and Strong keeps a hand on him for support.

            In the morning, a patrol of three Minutemen show up at the settlement.  They come up from the direction of the Vault, and when MacCready asks them about it, they explain that they saw a group of gunners heading northwest, leaving the place abandoned.  "Looked like they cut their losses," they tell him.  MacCready agrees – that'd be the smart thing to do.  The place had been cleaned out before the gunners ever got there, so there probably wasn't much keeping them to the area.

            A little after ten, Strong pulls his minigun into his grip, testing its weight appreciatively.  MacCready points the Minutemen northward, and then he and Strong take up the trail behind the last of the gunners.  Maybe it's a little cold-blooded to go after them when they're no longer posing a threat, and maybe the General would frown at it, but they proved MacCready and Strong's friendship.  It's only right to repay them by killing every last one of them.  After all, what's a little spilled blood between friends?

**Author's Note:**

> hey pssst if you want to talk about how much you love strong, monosyllabic super mutants, my tumblr is [right here](http://bearebentsage.tumblr.com/). come on and see me sometime!


End file.
